Love at 11 (8 page)

“Yeah. Real tiny, evidently.”
Please don’t press me on it,
I begged silently. I was running out of lies.

Luckily at that moment, we turned in to the doctor’s office. I breathed a sigh of relief. Jamie parked the SUV and turned to me. “Well, I hope you have fun on your date. You just let me know if this blond-haired, blue-eyed Czech surfer who grew up in a tiny town in Florida gives you a hard time, okay?”

I felt my face heat. Was he teasing me? Did he know I made the whole thing up? I narrowed my eyes in anger. I wanted to protest, tell him I did have a real date. But problem was, I didn’t.

I know! I’ll find one!

Jodi had been trying to get me to sign up for that online dating service for months. She said it had tons of cute guys. From all over. I was sure out of the thousands available I could find a blond-haired, blue-eyed Czech surfer who summered in Florida, right?

Yup, that’s what I’d do. I’d go home from the shoot, find myself a surfer and go out on a date. Then I’d take pictures with my camera phone and casually show them to Jamie on Monday to prove that I wasn’t some pathetic lying girl who made up a whole person because she was too embarrassed to admit she planned to stay home and paint her bedroom.

“What are you up to this weekend?” I asked as I waited for him to unload his gear from the back of the Expedition.

He groaned. “Nothing as exciting as your weekend. I’ve got to paint the bedroom of my new place.”

Oh.

“I have to do some major yard work, too. I want to have the place all ready for when Jennifer comes down next month.”

Argh.

I tried to squash the jealous feeling that bubbled deep inside, but no luck. All I could think of was what a nice guy Jamie was. Why couldn’t I find someone who would sacrifice his weekend just so his fiancée could waltz down from LA and have a great place to live?

“What does Jennifer do?” I asked, trying to sound casual. After all, we were supposed to be friends, right? “She’s an actress,” Jamie said as he closed the SUV’s back door.

Of course.

“Has she been in anything I might have seen?”

He shook his head. “She’s done cameos in some low-budget movies. She’s also a model.”

“And a waitress?” It was cruel, but I suddenly realized her type.

He grinned sheepishly. “How’d you guess?” Easy. Though he already knew how. Actress/model/waitress types were par for the course in So-Cal. Just most people sort of tried to hide the waitress part.

“So, what does she think of relocating to San Diego?” I couldn’t imagine if she was trying to have a career in Hollywood she would think this a very good move.

Jamie sighed. Deeply. “She realizes it’s necessary for us at this time.”

In other words she was pissed off about it. Poor Jamie. Here he was, sacrificing his moviemaking career to work in local TV news, so his loser waitress fiancée could continue to live in the lifestyle she was accustomed. And did she thank him for his dedication? No. She bitched about moving from LA where she would compete with two thousand other blond bimbos for lousy movie roles in even lousier movies that were destined to tank on opening day.

Okay, maybe I was projecting a bit here, but I bet I wasn’t too far from the truth.

“When she comes down, you’ll have to meet her,” Jamie added as we walked into the hospital. “You’d like her, I think.”

Men were so clueless. Didn’t he know that I could never like her? You could never like the fiancée of a guy you slept with. It just didn’t happen.

“Sure. We’ll do lunch,” I said, trying to sound amiable.

Jamie looked at me funny, but didn’t reply. We took the elevator up to the correct floor and entered the doctor’s office.

The interview went well. The doctor talked about the dangers of lead to a fetus and gave us examples of lipsticks that had tested positive. Evidently it wasn’t an exact science. When the lipstick goo was being stirred at the factory, the lead levels didn’t mix in evenly. So each tube from the same batch could have completely different levels of lead. And while nine times out of ten you were probably pretty safe, she did advise pregnant women not to use lipstick during their pregnancy just in case. And that was all I needed for my story.

It would have been better if we had a victim. I knew the station would have loved to get video of a brain-damaged baby, forced to live out a miserable existence all because his mother vainly applied lipstick every morning. But I could work around it.

I had to get this piece done and on the air so I could start working on that Mexican drug cartel one. Miguel had left a voice mail for me this morning before I got in and I couldn’t wait to call him back and get the scoop.

I just had a feeling that was going to be the story that changed my life.

*

“How about that guy? He’s cute.” Jodi pressed a well-manicured finger up to the computer screen. Back at the station, she and I had holed up in her office and opened the Match.com dating site.

“He’s not a blond, blue-eyed surfer from Czechoslovakia.”

She rolled her eyes. “Tell me again why he has to be that?”

“That’s my type.” I shrugged. I didn’t want to admit my embarrassing lie if I didn’t have to. Plus, Jodi might get suspicious about Jamie. I wasn’t ready for the lecture she’d be sure to give if she heard of my overnight adventure. As much as I loved Jodi, let’s just say she once had a cheating fiancé of her own and wasn’t too keen on encouraging her friends to engage in such activities.

“Since when is your type a blond? You’re always dating brunettes. You hate blonds.”

“Tastes change. Besides, I like Owen Wilson. He’s a blond.”

“Right.” Jodi gave me a weird look and went back to searching. Unfortunately, there were fewer blond-haired Czechs who lived in Southern California and surfed than one might have imagined.

“Click on him.” I pointed to a cute blond guy. Jodi complied and a profile popped up.

Ah-ha! He was perfect.

Blond, blue-eyed surfer. Lived in Czechoslovakia for several years as a child though he was originally from Germany. Under hobbies he listed surfing. I couldn’t believe my luck. My imaginary guy actually existed. I should try this Match.com thing more often.

According to his profile, Ted liked long walks on the beach, cuddling up to a roaring fire. Thunderstorms. (Why did everyone always put that in their “likes” category? Was it supposed to be romantic or something?)

I pushed Jodi out of the way and jotted off a quick e-mail to Ted, asking him to check out my profile and whether or not he wanted to go out tomorrow night. I normally would have been a bit more coy, but these were desperate times.

Then I went in and changed my profile so my likes agreed with his likes. Sure, I didn’t really enjoy foreign films or follow European football all that closely, but the likelihood was that these topics wouldn’t come up on a first date anyway and I only needed that one date to prove to Jamie I hadn’t lied.

I clicked back to his profile to see what he put under family. Ten kids?! He wanted ten kids? Wow, I felt bad for the woman he’d make his broodmare. But okay. I typed “ten” under my desire for kids. Why not? I wouldn’t know him long enough for it to matter.

Satisfied that I had created a profile that would intrigue him, I clicked off the site. Tomorrow night at this time, I was sure to be on a date.

*

Ding, dong!

Why did the doorbell always ring the second I stepped in the shower? I could be conditioning my hair at four a.m. and someone would be sure to stop by. It’d better not be a vacuum salesman, I thought as I turned off the water and grabbed a towel. Or some Girl Scout. Actually, that wouldn’t be so bad on account of getting some cookies out of the deal. Thin Mints. Mmmmm.

Ding, dong!

 “I’m coming!” Whoever it was, they sure were impatient. I scurried down the hallway, clad only in my towel, and opened the door.

Lulu. And she had a big backpack, stuffed to the brim. “Hey, sis, what’s up?” I asked, already kind of getting the gist.

“You said I could stay with you, right? Well, here I am.” She pushed by me and dumped her grimy backpack on my beige IKEA couch.

Oh, great. Just what I needed. My crazy sister living in my tiny apartment. She stayed with me for a weekend once when my parents went to Vegas, and she trashed the place in two days. It was not for nothing her childhood nickname had been Pigpen.

“Did something happen, Lu?”

Lulu slumped down on the couch, putting her combat-booted feet on the coffee table. “Dad took off to go be with what’s-her-face. And Mom hasn’t been back from shopping.”

“What?” I asked, alarmed. “She never came back?”

“Nope. I stayed up ‘til like one a.m. last night and there was no sign of her. When I woke up, I was still alone. I decided to skip school and wait for her. But she’s not back yet.”

Fear raced through my heart. This was not good. Not at all. Mom could be lying in a ditch. She could have rented a hotel room and committed suicide. She could be dead. My mother could be dead!

“Omigod. Omigod. What are we going to do?” I asked, not really addressing my sister, since I knew she would have no solution. I grabbed the telephone and dialed Dad’s cell.

“Hi honey,” he answered. “I’m so pleased to hear from you.”

“I’m not calling for a friendly chat, Dad,” I said testily. I was still very angry at him and wanted to make sure he knew it. “It’s Mom. She never came home.”

“I’m sure she’s fine, Maddy.”

I white-knuckled the phone. “She’s not fine. She’s missing. Do you have any idea where she might have gone?”

“Well, according to my online banking register, it appears to be Hawaii. Oh, no. Wait.” I hear clicking in the background. “She flew to Fiji this afternoon.”

“What? Why would Mom be in Fiji? Or Hawaii for that matter?” I screamed into the phone. This was unbelievable.

“Well, from what I can see by looking at the charges, it appears she’s shopping.”

“And we are not to be concerned that our cookie-baking, stay-at-home, never-been-outside-the-continental-United States mother is suddenly on a globe-trotting shopping spree?”

“Honey, I’m sure she’s fine. She’s free for the first time in her life and she’s enjoying herself.”

“Fine. Whatever, Dad.” Furious, I threw the phone across the room. Unfortunately, phone throwing only hurts the phone itself, not the person on the other line.

“So can I live with you?” Lulu asked.

I sank down into the armchair, head in my hands. What did I do in a previous life to make my karma so screwed up?

Chapter Six

FROM
: “Diane Madison”

TO
: “Madeline Madison”

SUBJECT
: Hello from Japan!

Hi Sweetie!

Sorry this comes by e-mail, but you know those foreign phone charges can really add up! I’m at a Tokyo Internet café having a grand old time and I thought I might drop you a line. So, how are you? How’s Lulu? Hope you are all doing well.

Not sure when I’ll be home—having way too much fun! I can’t believe all these years I sat around wasting time raising children (no offense, Sweetie), when I could have been traveling the world!!!! Now your father will soon be stuck changing diapers again and I’m free to do whatever I want—all on his dime!!! I may NEVER come home.

Make sure Lulu is doing her homework. And remind her that skipping school just ain’t cool.

Love you to pieces, MOM

I couldn’t believe my mom was traveling the world and I was stuck taking care of my crazy sister. You had to understand, my mother was the most non-travel-the-world type you’d ever meet in your life. And she never, ever shirked from the smallest parental duty, never mind getting up one day and abandoning her teenage child. It didn’t make any sense.

I couldn’t mother Lulu. I could barely take care of myself. Like tonight. I had a date with the surfing Czech. Did I have to now make dinner first? Get home in time to check if she made curfew? I didn’t want that kind of responsibility. I didn’t even own a goldfish for this very reason.

Still, what could I do? She
was
my sister, after all. And despite what a pain in the butt she could be, at the end of the day, I loved her dearly. What was I supposed to do, kick her out on the street? Sure, her being here would cramp my style a little, but we were sisters. And sisters stuck together when their parents went off the deep end as ours had.

Besides, it wasn’t as if Lulu was in diapers and needed constant surveillance. She was sixteen. Mary from
Little House on the Prairie
got married at sixteen. And she was blind! Lulu had perfect twenty-twenty vision—surely she could figure out how to use a stove or call for takeout.

So after laying out a few ground rules, I headed to my bedroom to find an outfit to wear on my date. Ted, the surfing Czech had called me yesterday, soon after I sent my e-mail. We talked for about three minutes—he said he was impressed by my profile—and ended the conversation by making dinner and movie plans for tonight. To avoid potential future stalker issues when I inevitably dumped him, I said I’d meet him at the Old Town Mexican Cafe, a fun restaurant in San Diego’s historic Old Town. We’d have dinner. We’d have drinks. (Though not too many. I was so not having a repeat of Thursday with Jamie.) Then, we’d go to the movies in Fashion Valley and at some point I’d take a photo for proof. This way, I could prove to Jamie that I wasn’t: a) lying to him and b) pining over our one-night stand. He’d know that I, Maddy Madison, had a full, active social life with cute surfer boys.

Then I could tell Ted it wasn’t working out and move on. Hopefully the surfing Czech wouldn’t be too broken up about losing me, poor desperate online-dating-service guy.

The only problem now was what the heck I was going to wear on the date. After a brief closet assessment, I resigned myself to the fact that everything I owned was hopelessly worn and/or ugly. Not that it mattered. After all, I was only using Ted for a quick photo op. But what if he turned out to be really cool? What if by some rare stroke of luck, he was The One and I had worn such an awful outfit that he ran away screaming and I ended up living out the rest of my life as the crazy cat lady because I didn’t dress appropriately for the date? It was a risk I wasn’t willing to take.